DISCLAIMER - this blog contains lies, bullshit and swearing and does not represent the otherwise sane views of the Valley RFC. If you must, read on.
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Half a dog. That’s always been one of my favourite jokes, “What has two legs and bleeds a lot?” It’s simple, it’s stimulating and you can tell it anywhere. Even New Zealand. When I told this joke to Alex Curran he didn’t even have the decency to laugh because it suddenly reminded him of a party he once went to in Australia. At which he released such an appalling fart that the hosts’ dog, standing nearby, vomited immediately. We can only assume that the two events are related. I’d been left ever since with the image of a vomiting dog. In my mind the dog was a Dalmatian but I have no idea what type of dog it actually was. There’s something very comedic about Dalmatians before you even imagining them spewing. One of God’s cruel jokes is the Dalmation. Like goats.
More alarming than a yakking dog though is the idea of half a dog bleeding everywhere at someones BBQ. When you first heard the joke, what type of dog did you imagine? What half of the dog did you see? I always see the back end of an Alsatian, still standing on its hind legs and sort of toppled foward with its mangled torso poking into the earth. I don’t know why. Don't even wanna start wondering who's cut a dog in half at a BBQ or where the front half is lurking.
Yesterday, in a moment of clarity, it suddenly made perfect sense that I should take two bottles of tequila down to the Valley. This was no random event, no Black Swan. The purchase of four lemons, a container of salt and a small knife indeed suggest lucid coherence. I’d also the presence of mind to take two shot glasses. After a few rounds of Pepe Lopez, I’d finally have salt, lemon and the knife stuck into my fingers, which stings a bit. I must thank the crowd for such enthusiasm in taking their shot of Pepe on the sideline. Those sausages for Samoa suddenly looked rather enticing.
The rest of the night is a fearful blur, trapped in someone else’s body, looking out through glazed eyes and having imaginary conversations. I seemed to be in round after round of Vodka Cranberries and I must apologize if I didn’t buy a round all night. It was simply too complicated. As was catching the 2.30am ferry to Discovery Bay.
DB is pumping today. A familiar complacency about the order of events. The sun is out but it’s not too hot. Live bands are playing outdoors to lazy Sunday wine drinkers. The Sand crabs are playing touch on the beach. Olse has just returned from Thailand looking tanned, well rested and well fed. It’s not the first time I’ve spied Matty P in DB getting used to the feel of it before making the big move. Do we hear the pitter patter of little Packages.
I was suddenly caught off guard when out of the corner of my eye; I saw the rhythm section (drums, bass and keyboards) of the awesome band from Amazonia, Ice Box. No no no no….. you can’t come here. This is too weird. In Discovery Bay my name is Grant, I drink lattes and engage in normal mature things. In Wanchai I am Boozer. I drink tequila and lager and dance like a retarded giraffe with an air guitar in Amazonia. Two worlds collided as they approached me laughing, clearly amused that I didn’t always have that air guitar around my neck and my left hand up in the air looking like I’m holding a dick. “Hey Boozer, what the hell are you doing here?” Precisely.
Their songs are the soundtrack to my life. The Doors, Led Zep, Floyd, AC/DC, Iron Maiden, Hendrix, Deep Purple. I love those guys. They are good dudes. It’s just not right to see them in DB when I’m being Grant.
Anyway, I think the Firsts, Knights and Mustangs all had wins. Wouldn’t have a clue about anything else. I laughed out all my memories of yesterday. I do remember the racial segregation has been implemented at The Stable, with whites and blacks being forced to drink in different parts of the bar. Mrs Higgie – you are not a Hori. Get your white ass over here with your white trash brothers, John Hamilton and I. Your husband is so white trash that he stole the rubbish bins at Happy Valley and stashed them in his lock up. You don’t get anymore white trashie than that. They’d be proud of him back in Cambridge. A once proud policeman nicking government property.
I quote Robbie McRobbie from the HKRFU;
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“Subject: FW: Loss of Litter bin inner containers involving HKRFU
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Well, you lot have reached an all-time low now ??stealing the rubbish bins from Happy Valley and hiding them in your locker. What were you planning to do with them? Some kind of cheap ice-bath alternative? A large eski for after-match beers? Some kind of throw-back to the days of communal after-match baths?
I know you're all very jealous about the facilities your neighbours enjoy, and I realize that you have to start somewhere in building up your own resources, but honestly??o:p>”
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The sun is out, the wine is cold and, if I wasn’t self unemployed, I’d be somewhat chuffed coz it’s a holiday tomorrow.
Your majestic and superior cackling hen
Boozer
PS Send me your made up stories, rumours, lies and schemes.